


chest blooms warm

by ohvictor



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Grinding, Nonbinary Character, Other, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6608608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohvictor/pseuds/ohvictor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sphintus isn't even that high, yet, but he’s already picking out the shapes of possible ghosts in the vague fog down on the stadium turf, like anything could be possible here. There’s a hand in his reminding him that anything <i>is</i> possible, a strong, pale hand that twists a little as its owner shivers and exhales a noisy yawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chest blooms warm

**Author's Note:**

> it's 4/20............ i had sphinti on the mind............ that's my excuse. i have class in five hours and this was a glorious mistake. titus is nonbinary (they/them). please mind the warnings, and enjoy!!

The empty expanse of the football stadium at night, shimmering with one of the last frosts of the spring and lit up blue and ghostly by four floodlights standing sentinel, is a sight well worth the freezing metal bleacher digging into Sphintus’ back. He’s not even that high, yet, but he’s already picking out the shapes of possible ghosts in the vague fog down on the stadium turf, like anything could be possible here. There’s a hand in his reminding him that anything _is_ possible, a strong, pale hand that twists a little as its owner shivers and exhales a noisy yawn.

“I’m just not warming up yet,” says Titus, their pout audible despite the smoke settling between them, despite Sphintus’ eyes that won’t leave the field. Or maybe he is looking at Titus, but the fog came with him.

“I’m _very_ warm,” says Sphintus. He offers Titus the thermos of hot cocoa. “Want this?”

“Okay.” Titus drops his hand and struggles to sit up, no longer leaning awkwardly against the bleacher behind them like Sphintus is, and screws off the thermos lid. Sphintus watches their cheeks flower pink with warmth as the steam hits, and his chest blooms warm too in answer. Titus tips their head back as they drink, and Sphintus takes advantage of their distraction to snatch the joint back from their free hand.

Titus lowers the thermos and scowls. “Hey!”

“Gimme,” says Sphintus, even though the joint is already in his hands. He takes a hit, wipes his mouth. “Hey, I have another idea.”

Titus screws the lid back on the thermos and thrusts it back into Sphintus’ space. “Okay, hit me. I guess your first idea was all right.”

“Your counting is off.” Sphintus gestures out at the foggy blue stadium, then at the pair of them hunched on the cold bleachers under a too-thin tablecloth Titus had found in Muu’s closet. “ _This_ was my first idea, and it’s _awesome_.”

“It’s nice,” Titus concedes. “Pretty cold.”

“I can’t control the weather, bucko.” Sphintus’ foggy brain tells him this comment is funny, but Titus’ face says it’s not the time to be laughing, so he swallows and continues. “Anyway, as I was saying, I have another idea. A _third_ idea.”

“Well, jeez, Sphintus, you’re just a master of ideas,” says Titus, and then they _giggle_ , so Sphintus laughs, and they both laugh for a few seconds. The way Titus’ head tilts forward and their eyes crinkle up makes Sphintus feel even warmer.

“That felt good,” he says once they’ve calmed down.

“Yeah,” says Titus. “What’s your idea?”

Sphintus remembers the joint in his hand, and checks to make sure it’s still there and doing okay. He examines it for a moment, and then shows it to Titus. “This.”

Titus lifts their face to meet Sphintus’ gaze. They are not impressed. “I thought that was your first idea.”

“No, jeez!” Sphintus knocks his shoulder against Titus’ and then straightens up. “Get ready to puff, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe,” says Titus.

Sphintus ignores them, and brings the joint to his lips. He inhales a surge of dark, damp smoke, holds it in his belly, his eyes half closing, and beckons Titus into his space with his free hand.

Titus leans in, their eyes widening with the realization of what Sphintus is going to do. They purse their lips, hesitating, and then open them. Sphintus fixates on the bitten pink, leans in. Exhales. Puts his hand on the back of Titus’ head and digs his fingers into Titus’ hair, and Titus melts against Sphintus, kissing him, breathing in.

They separate as Titus takes the hit and breathes it back out, a slow stream of smoke. Sphintus watches the way Titus’ lips part and all of him feels foggy now, like steam curling and rising.

Their eyes meet, half-lidded, and Titus opens their mouth like they’re going to say something, and Sphintus decides it can wait.

Their mouths mash together unceremoniously, Sphintus’ hand settling back into place in Titus’ hair and tugging, pulling Titus’ head back as he pushes forward to fill the space. Titus tastes like chocolate and weed and their tongue is cool and soft in Sphintus’ mouth and Sphintus forgets he has a second hand until he feels his fingers loosen on the joint and some part of his mind that remembers things like not wasting weed or starting fires in the bleachers, and he fumbles for a place to set the joint, two-thirds burned down but, maybe useful later--

Titus doesn’t seem to care about Sphintus’ preoccupations. Their hands find Sphintus’ hair and they rake their fingers into it, nails pressing into Sphintus’ scalp and grounding him in the kiss. Titus licks their way into Sphintus’ mouth and then back out, biting at his lip and his jaw, his neck. Sphintus’ head falls back and he stares right into the floodlights above them, his vision dancing with his pulse as Titus’ warm mouth sinks lower, tugging his shirt collar aside, one hand fumbling around his belly for the hem.

“Don’t-- _Titus_! Leave it _on_ , it’s cold!”

“I _know_!”

Sphintus answers with a half-scowl, and Titus kisses him again to keep him placated. And then they keep kissing for a long time and Sphintus’ eyes fall shut, and Titus is shifting against his leg and making tiny noises into the kisses, and Sphintus’ memory, distant and undulating like cigarette smoke, reminds him of one thing he’s always heard about weed.

“Get on top of me,” he tells Titus, who apparently doesn’t need telling twice and maneuvers ungracefully to sit themself in Sphintus’ lap. Sphintus maneuvers some more as Titus returns to kissing him, and after a bit of shifting manages to wedge one leg between Titus’ thighs.

He grinds forward, pressing his knee insistently into Titus’ crotch, and Titus sighs against his mouth, the most beautiful sound.

“That’s,” Titus says, and they roll themself down against Sphintus’ thigh and Sphintus can feel the warmth of them, can feel the curve of their erection through layers of pants, “another-- _ah_ , good idea.”

“I’m full of them tonight,” Sphintus says, smug, and then Titus rolls themself forward again with a smirk that means trouble and cups one hand over Sphintus’ crotch, and Sphintus decides talking is probably not what he wants to be using his brain for right now.

They grind on each other together in the dark, the bleachers a skeletal metal arena around them, the floodlights turning Titus’ skin even paler than usual, reflecting on Sphintus’ cheeks and the hook of his nose. The huge stadium is silent and cold but Sphintus is used to taking cold, empty places and growing warmth in them, makes a habit of it. Titus looks regal as they rock against Sphintus’ knee, their cheeks flushed and that sweet smirk on their lips, and Sphintus keeps his eyes on Titus even as Titus’ eyes slip closed, and he sees Titus come rather than feels it. Watches the red drop away from Titus’ cheeks and their eyes snap open and the smirk widen until, “ _Ohh_ , Sphin--”, until the perfect “o” their mouth pronounces. Sphintus keeps his eyes on Titus, every thought, every cell on Titus, and he comes with a moan that seems to tear unannounced from his throat.

After that they sit panting for a while, seeping back into their bodies. Titus opens their eyes and watches Sphintus as he pants and swipes a hand over his face, sweaty even in the frosty air. His eyes fall shut as he savors the last few moments of aftershocks, then blinks, trying to process through the mental fog of orgasm, then the weed fog that seeps back in as the pleasure dissipates. Titus’ gaze catalogs each breath, each shaky exhale, and Sphintus wonders if Titus knows that he came just from watching them.

He thinks, probably, Titus wouldn’t be surprised.

“Well, King of Great Ideas,” Titus starts, with that look like they’re going to ruin the moment, so Sphintus kisses them instead. Titus indulges him for a few seconds and then pulls away, grinning now.

“I’m sticky, and now I’m _unpleasantly_ warm. Also, I think the joint burned out.”

Sphintus turns fast to find where he left the joint. It’s left a thin smear of smoke on the metal bleachers, and. Titus was right, it’s nearly burned to the end.

“You have no appreciation for atmosphere,” says Sphintus, puffing out his chest, but he’s sticky too, and he’s pretty sure he’s forced Titus to be out in the cold for about as long as Titus will tolerate.

“It was nice,” Titus says, starting to pick up their various provisions. The tablecloth, the bag. “I, Titus Alexius, would never bestow the title of King of Good Ideas in jest.”

“What gross language. I can’t believe you kissed me with that mouth.”

“I’d do it again, too.”

Finding their way back out of the bleachers with sticky pants and weed-fogged heads is not, in fact, a good idea, but it was Titus’ idea, so Sphintus holds his untarnished pride and stumbles as little as he can manage. Titus, lighter on their feet, moves faster, but halfway down the steps they start giggling again and Sphintus decides to hold the bag and the cloth in case Titus hurts themself.

It’s not until they’re walking back to the dorms, a heavy quiet settled between them during the trek back from the stadium, that Titus stops, reaches for Sphintus’ hand, and reaches up to kiss Sphintus’ cheek.

“You’re good,” they say, like that actually means something coherent, but luckily Sphintus is high too and maybe everyone speaks the same language when they’re stoned, because it warms him from inside out.

“You’re _okay_ ,” he says, grinning, and lets Titus smack weakly at his shoulder the rest of the way back to the dorm.


End file.
